Sweet Poison
by shollinger
Summary: Addresses the issues brought up in the finale. Deacon's descends into addiction and alcoholism: returning to his old ways. Rayna tries her best to save Deacon while nursing emotional and physical wounds of her own. In the mean time Juliette tries to deal with the death of her mother while also attempting to cope with Deacon who reminds her of Jolene.
1. Chapter 1

_**Okay...this is my first fanfic story ever, so I might not be fantastic at writing these at first. I've worked pretty hard on this chapter and it's a little short, but I'm really proud of it. :) Anyways, I decided to start writing this story today when I watched the most recent episode of Nashville which I didn't realize existed until now...for some reason I thought episode 20 was the finale and I do not know how I managed to not know about this last episode because I absolutely adore this show. Now I'm missing the show a lot and the ending was very suspenseful and because I can't handle waiting for the season two premier in September I've decided to continue the plot myself a little.**_

_**Note: I do not own Nashville...I wish I did, but no I don't.**_

_**A bit of an overview: This story is probably going to be mostly about Rayna, Deacon, and, perhaps, Juliette. It will depict Deacons decent in to alcoholism/addiction and Rayna's attempts to help him. The story will also address the various issues Juliette is dealing with (coming to terms with the death of her mother etc.), as well as some of the other problems that arose with the other characters in the season finale. Anyway, I don't want to give away the whole story, but I do want to give you guys an idea of what might be covered in the story. Alright, that's that.**_

_**P.S. The story starts just as Rayna and Deacons car crash is about to happen.**_

"Dammit. Give me that!" Rayna said as she reached for the bottle in Deacon's hand.

"No" Deacon grabbed the bottle back sloshing a good portion of the whiskey over her shirt.

A seemingly unbreakable silence reigned for what felt like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes.

Then, softly, Rayna said "thirteen years." Again louder "THIRTEEN YEARS, Deacon."

"What do you mean thirteen years?" Deacon slurred.

"Look at you, Deacon. You're so drunk that you can't even remember how long you've been sober. Thirteen years you've been sober. Thirteen. And you throw that all away. You're going to have start from the beginning...start over." Rayna tried to concentrate on the road, but decided that yelling at Deacon was more important.

"This is ridiculous, Rayna. This is _my_ goddamned life and I'll do what I want with it. Maybe I don't want to start over, maybe this is the way I want to be, maybe this is the way I'm supposed to be. Besides, we have more important things to talk about," Deacon shouted violently "like the fact that I have a child who I didn't know was my child even though I've known her her whole life.

Deacon's words started to get jumbled as he took another drink "It just doesn't...it doesn't. I have a daughter who I know, but I didn't know was my child and she's my kid. My kid. Maddie is my kid. What the hell were you thinking Rayna?"

Rayna averted her eyes from the road and once again lunged for the bottle of alcohol that Deacon grasped so tightly. "I can't believe you're doing this, Deacon. This is the reason I never told you about Maddie because you were like this when I was pregnant." She now had one hand on the bottle of whiskey, which Deacon was involuntarily loosening his grip on, and one hand draped over the steering wheel.

Deacon started to say something, but he trailed off when he saw the blinding headlights mere feet from the windshield. Rayna was still looking at him when the two cars collided. He was staring at her, her face swimming in front of his intoxicated eyes, and then he wasn't staring at anymore, and it was all black.

Rayna's eyes fluttered open. The ceiling was very white, and so were the walls. She rolled her head to the side and saw an IV sticking out of her arm. She heard the TV droning in the background and tried to focus "...Rayna James was hospitalized three days ago after being involved in an automobile accident. Sources say she is in stable condition, but has some serious injuries. Her family members have declined to comment on the matter." The news must be on. She tried to fight the morphine that was weighing down her mind; making her thoughts slow and incoherent. She knew that she had been in a car crash. She didn't remember the oncoming car...only looking at Deacon and seeing the despair in his confused gaze.

Rayna reached for the call button and slammed her hand down on it. A nurse came rushing in.

"Oh, good, you're awake." She said.

"Deacon?" Rayna questioned.

"Is Deacon the man that was in the car crash with you?"the nurse asked.

Rayna nodded.

"Oh, don't you worry, sweetheart, he was out of here a while ago. He had a broken rib and a dislocated shoulder but we fixed up his shoulder, and had him discharged the next day." The overly cheerful nurse kept talking for a while, but Rayna stopped listening.

"...he's all patched up and-" she interrupted the nurse "Did you give him any painkillers?"

"Well, I'm not sure. I imagine that they gave him something for the pain...a broken rib can hurt and the aftermath of a dislocated shoulder isn't pretty either," the nurse said.

Her mind started spinning. Deacon he couldn't have that stuff. The pills, the alcohol: he couldn't stop once he'd started. She had fought this with him before for years, but ultimately it had to be up to Deacon to fight the battle.

She realized the nurse was still there looking at her. "Is something wrong?" the nurse asked.

"What, um, no. Nothing. I was just wondering...when I might be getting out of here" she said gesturing to the hospital bed.

"Well, I can't say for sure. The doctor will be by to check on you in just a few minutes, Ms. James. He'll discuss your injuries with you," the nurse replied.

"Okay," Rayna nodded.

The light shining through the window was blinding. "Dammit," Deacon muttered as he pulled his blanket over his head and blindly reached for the bottle of alcohol that he'd left by his bedside the night before. He felt around for a while, but instead of finding his whiskey he encountered a hand. Startled, Deacon shot up and in return felt a searing pain in his side, he imagined it was probably his broken rib. He pushed away the pain and tried to focus. Sitting by his bed was his sponsor: Coleman.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Deacon asked groggily.

"I thought you might need some help" Coleman replied.

"I told you two days ago I could handle this on my own. You don't get to babysit me anymore. I get what I've done here, Cole. I messed up and all I can do is try to start over!" Deacon shouted.

"The fact that you think that last time we spoke was two days ago tells me something's wrong. Because the last time I was here was almost a week ago. I left you alone for a week...I tried to do what you asked. You know what Deacon? No one's heard from you for a whole week and a lot of people are worried about you. So, I thought I better come over here and check on you." Coleman said.

"I've been going to meetings everyday" Deacon lied. "I'm trying best. Okay, Cole? I am just not ready to talk to anybody yet."

"I would believe you" Coleman paused for a minute "except for the fact that there were about eight empty bottles of beer laying around here."

"Oh, Cole, don't worry those were from...before. I just haven't gotten around to cleaning them up yet. I'm a little bed ridden if you haven't noticed." Deacon patted his ribs and faked a chuckle.

"I know you. Also, there was half finished bottle of whiskey on the table by your bed. Guess you couldn't clean that up either?"

Deacon stared at Coleman.

"Don't worry I cleaned that up for you...It's gone."

"Cole" Deacon gave him a pleading look.

"It's gone" Coleman repeated.

Deacon tried to restrain himself, but failed. He gave Coleman one last raged filled look and then grabbed his coat and stormed out.

He slammed the door so hard that bits of plastered rained down from the ceiling for several minutes after wards.

Rayna hadn't really had the chance to wrap her head around the pain that she was in. When she had first woken up her worry about Deacon had distracted her and she hadn't really noticed the torturous pain- the morphine may have helped too. Needless to say, now she did notice the pain. In fact, she found it impossible to escape it for even a second. All she wanted was to have one peaceful second. One second in which the pain wasn't tearing her insides apart.

The one thing that annoyed her the most, however, wasn't the pain...it was the painting on the wall. The damn abstract painting in it's neat little black frame. She couldn't figure out what the hell the painting was supposed to resemble. Honestly, she thought it looked like something that a child would draw. A child, piecing different shapes together. She wondered if they would have to piece her back together. Actually, in reality, the pain was far worse than the painting, but since the painting was her only distraction in the room, which was otherwise entirely white, it was quite bothersome.

Rayna couldn't get anything out of the nurses, either. Two hours ago they had told her that the doctor would be with there soon to tell her what was wrong with her. Two hours later and the only visitor that had frequented her room was a nurse who brought her orange jello that tasted vile. She thought it was appalling that they would withhold information about _her_ injuries from _her_.

She heard the phone ring and reached for her cellphone. She was surprised at how long it took her to realize that she didn't have her cell phone. Another minute and she was able to locate the telephone, hung up on the wall by her bed, and answer it. When she picked it up she didn't actually say anything. She decided since she was the one with the crippling pain that she would just wait for the person on the other end to say whatever they needed to say.

"Hello?"

It was Teddy.

"Hello?"

"Yes," Rayna said.

"Rayna. Oh my god. Rayna. Are you okay? Wait. What am I saying? Of course you're not okay. What happened? I mean...I know what happened. Oh god, Rayna. I'm just glad you're alive." Teddy gushed.

Rayna was conflicted. They were divorced...why was he calling her like this? Then again, not to long ago they were husband and wife, so of course he would call her. Then, it struck her: he was probably calling about the girls, her girls, who he was taking care of.

"I'm fine," she icily "how are the girls?"

"They're worried. Rayna, they're so worried about you. I'm so sorry I haven't brought them to visit you. I just wanted to get the OK from you before I did. I don't know what kind of shape you're in. Do you want to see them?" Teddy asked.

"I really would love to see them, but not now. I still haven't had a chance to to talk to the doctor. And the nurses won't tell me a damn thing. I don't even know what the hell is wrong with me. And there's nothing to do, but stare at this painting and eat jello. You'd think that they could at least put a mural in here or something...maybe a TV?" Rayna complained.

"Okay? Rayna...I'm sorry about the painting, I guess. Regardless, there are things we need to take care of. I've spoken to your publicist: we need to issue a statement. You can't believe what people are saying: they're saying that you were intoxicated when you were driving. You weren't, were you? Anyways, that needs to be addressed and-" Rayna cut him off.

Rayna ignored the fact that Teddy had really, truly just asked her if she was driving drunk. She was infuriated, but she pushed down the rage.

"Listen Teddy: I can deal with this myself. I would really just appreciate one favor," Rayna stated matter-of-factly, "I have no idea where my phone is, but I'm thinking it's lying broken in a ditch wherever we crashed. Can you run downtown and get me a new phone? Sorry, I know it's a lot to ask. Actually, you know, you could just call my assistant and ask her to do it. I just can't deal with any of this stuff when I can't get a hold of anyone. I don't know if broken in a car crash is something that is covered under the warranty, but if not I'll pay you back. Just get the same phone I had before."

"You know what? I'll go down right now and get it for you myself. You had an iphone 5, right? I'll get it to you as soon as I can. It'll be an hour an a half tops. Don't worry about paying me back...you've got enough to worry about already." Teddy replied eagerly.

"I most certainly will pay you back," Rayna said sternly.

"Well, don't worry about it."

"Thanks, Teddy. Bye."

"Alright, be right there. Bye, Rayna."

She held the phone to her ear for a few more minutes and listened to the dial tone. Reaching over, she attempted to put the phone back on the hook, but she missed and the phone clattered to the floor.

She gave up on trying to put the phone back, instead she stared at the ceiling and listened to the continues beeping that it produced, then, "if you'd like to make call please hang up and try again..."

Deacon knew he was being irrational. He knew what he was doing was stupid. It wasn't as though the rational human part of him had disappeared. The thought that he had a child, however, was so shocking that it crushed every shred of reason that was left. The only way he could handle it was to not think about it and the only way he could stop thinking about it was to drink. He needed to be numb, he needed not to feel, just for a little bit.

He was in South Nashville. Just past where 2nd avenue met Lafeyette. Deacon wouldn't be caught here and he was very much aware of it. This is where he used to go years ago to buy cheap whiskey at the liquor store and score drugs in the dark alley ways.

Deacon fished around in his bag, pulled out a scratched up shaving mirror, the bottle of Oxycontin that the doctor had prescribed, and a razor blade. He could see his reflection as he placed the oxy on the mirror, pushed down on the pill with the razor blade and crushed it- distorting his face. He pulled out an old business card, divided the crushed oxy into parallel lines, rolled up the card, and snorted the drugs.

He let his head fall back onto the head rest and relaxed as a feeling of utter bliss washed over him. This was a familiar feeling, almost like nostalgia, something he hadn't felt for a long time. He missed it. Searching his mind he attempted to remember what he was so worried about, but he couldn't recall.

"Maddie," Deacon muttered. Yes, that's what he was worried about he realized. However, he couldn't concentrate long enough to figure the rest of it out. His thought was interrupted by the extreme heat that suddenly attacked his body. Flustered, he climbed out of the car, lay down, and pressed his face against the cold concrete.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Sorry it took me so long to post this one, guys. Everything has been so busy with school starting and such. I do plan to continue this fanfic even after Nashville starts up. Sorry, this one's a little depressing. I promise things are going to start looking up for Deacon soon...I just don't want him to conqure his addiction to early in the story because, in real life, it isn't something that going away quickly.**_

_**Also, in the next chapter, Rayna's dauters are going to start playing a bigger part in the story. I'm thinking a little Deacon and Juliette time and also some Maddie and Deacon time. Any suggestions. **_

_**Sorry this story is a bit of a rough draft...still some spelling mistakes.**_

_**Once again, I do not own Nashville.**_

"Teddy, I don't know how to thank you. I really appreciate this." Rayna said somwhat insencerely.

"Really, no problem. Oh, and I forgot to give this to you," Teddy said as he pulled out a beat up flowered notebook "It's your adress book. I thought since you don't have any of your contacts anymore..."

Rayna paused for a moment. "Um, thank you." She did appreciate the gesture, but she hadn't touched that adress book for a long time and was almost certain nothing in there was up to date.

She took the book from him carefully- trying to avoid touching his hand.

There was a long silence.

"Well, I guess I'll go now..." Teddy trailed off.

"Okay. Bye, Teddy."

Teddy turned to leave, but then paused and swung back around: "The girls would really like to talk to you. I mean, after all you're their mother and you got in a serious car accident and they haven't seen you...I mean, that's not very normal. I mean, I get it, there's paparrazi swarming around and you just woke up and everything. I understand that this isn't a normal situation and you don't want them to get involved in this mess, but they still really would like to speak to you."

All she could think was that Teddy said "I mean" a lot. Like...a lot. That had always annoyed her, and now that they were divorced it was okay for her to find it annoying. She really did find it incredibly annoying.

"Tell them they can give me a call as soon as they finish up their chores. Okay?"

"Great," Teddy gave her a thumbs up.

She hated those thumbs up he was always giving too.

Teddy stepped forward and put a tentative hand on Rayna's shoulder. "Bye, Rayna. I'm glad you're okay."

"Bye." She was ready to get rid of him.

Teddy shuffled out the door.

She sighed. She thought he was never going to leave.

As soon as Teddy was out the door she grabbed the box that held the phone and opened it. She turned it on and saw that it had already been activated and registered under the family plan. Teddy and her should probably cancel the family plan she realized. They were divorced now: he shouldn't be paying her phone bill.

She searched through the adress book and found Cole's cellphone. His number hadn't changed for years because he refused to get a new cellphone and instead stuck with his "user friendly" flip phone, so she was sure that the number in her book would be right.

She dailed his number and waited nervously as the phone rang. "Answer, answer, answer..."

"Hello?" She heard Cole's voice on the other end of the line.

"Cole. Thank god. How's Deacon?" Rayna questioned.

There was silence.

"Cole?" Again, "Cole?"

"How are you doing Rayna?"

"How's Deacon? Where is Deacon? You _have_ seen him since the crash, right?" Rayna started to get anxious.

"Well, you know how this works. You've got to give time for the recovery process. This isn't a fast kind of thing."

"He's not okay." Rayna said...It wasn't a question."

"No he's not okay. I saw him today," Cole decided to tell the truth,"and he didn't look good. When I got there he was passed out and when he woke up he left. Didn't want to talk at all."

"What can I do to help? I need to see him. Do you think you can get him here?" Rayna asked frantically.

"You need to stay away, Rayna. Let me handle this. You how he gets."

Rayna shook her head vigorously, then realized her couldn't hear a head shake through a phone.

"I will absolutley not stay away. _I_ know how to deal with him, Cole. You think I haven't been through this with him before? _I _know what's best for him. _I _know what he needs." She yelled.

"Have you ever been an addict, Rayna? Have you ever been an alcoholic?" Coleman argued, "No, you haven't. Guess what: I have been through this _myself_. That's why _I'm _his sponsor not _you_."

Rayna was taken back by his anger. Never had she heard such venom in his voice. She decided the best approach was apology. "I'm sorry, Cole, I know you're his sponor. I- I didn't mean to...I'm sorry. Can you try to find him? You'll call me if you do...right? I just- I really want to see him," she pleaded.

"I will call you if I find him."

"Okay great."

"Stay away, Rayna."

She shook her head no and then hung up the phone.

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Juliette picked at the string on her sweater. She didn't know why the sweater was fraying so much. Maybe it was because she'd worn it for about three days straight. Yes, that was probably it, she concluded.

"My mother died," Juliette stated...she felt odd saying it to an empty room.

She'd been working on saying it. It made it more real. She didn't like making it more real, but she decided that was the best thing to do.

The day after her mother died Juliette got stone cold drunk. The events of that night were fragmented, but from what she could recall: she'd sprinted around the house crashing into walls and trying, but failing, to break windows. Digging her nails into the walls she tore off half the wallpaper. After destroying her house she proceeded to ruin her hair: cutting about four inches off the left side of her head.

She had then taken the vodka she'd been drinking and smashed the bottle against the floor. She stood there for a few minutes, or hours...she didn't know. She had gotten down on her knees with the intention of cleaning it up, but instead she lay down in the mess pounding her fists on the floor, grinding the shattered glass into her hands. She passed out feeling the vodka seep into her clothes- mixing with her blood- and the broken glass dig into her body.

The next day she'd woken up with Emily, her assistant, standing over her. Emily had tried to navigate through the broken glass with her stilletos, but had ended up getting down on her knees, pulling Juliette up, looking her over with a horrified expression, and leading her down the hallway where she'd sat her down in a chair in the kitchen.

"You look awful," Emily had said.

Juliette had stared at her and blinked.

Then Emily had turned around and went into assistant mode. She'd made several calls on her cellphone, none of which Juliette had bothered to listen to, and within an hour a doctor had showed up and fixed her wounds, a hairdresser had shown up and glued extensions onto the short side of her hair, and a manacurist had come over and glued fake nails on top of her split nails, broken from tearing apart her house. She'd realized after this ordeal, though, that it wasn't just her house and her nails, and her hair that were broken: she was broken too. She didn't like that she had been fixed...she wanted the outside to match the inside. She wanted her nails to be split, she wanted her hair to be ruined, she wanted the little pieces of glass to still be digging into her skin because that was the only way that felt right.

Then Emily had made her a cup of coffee and sat her back down at the kitchen table. Juliette had looked around and to her surprise the house was magically clean. She didn't like having it clean it didn't seem right...how could everything be so utterely wrong and yet her house was clean and she was clean and everything was pefectley neat and wrong. "Call me when you're ready to sort this out," Emily had said and then left.

Juliette hadn't appreciated the doctor or the hair dresser or the manacurist that Emily had summoned, but she did appreciate Emily knowing when to leave.

As soon as Emily left Juliette opened all the cabinets in her kitchen and took every bottle of alcohol out, set it by the sink, and systematically screwed off every cap, and pulled out every cork and poured it all down the drain along with the painkillers that the doctor has prescribed. The jubilant spray of the champagne seemed out of place.

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"Hey, Buddy," Deacon felt a foot nudging his shoulder "You can sleep, but you can't sleep here."

"What?"

"Sorry, dude, but you gotta get outta here."

"Yeah, man c'mon."

He heard a chorus of voices.

He opened his eyes and he was staring at concrete. He blinked a few times and then raised his head only to be confronted by several pairs of shoes. Quickly he hoisted himself off the ground and stood up. Three burly, tall men surrounded him.

"Hey...Don't worry. I'm leaving." Deacon said and hastily reached for the dooor handle of his car.

The tallest one brought his face close to Deacon's "You better be." We got enough trouble around here. We don't need wasted guys sleeping on our sidewalk. This is our turf. Stay off."

"Hey. Calm down. Don't get your knickers in a twist." Deacon turned away, resentfully, and opened his car door.

"Yeah that's right...run."

"What did you just say to me?" Deacon clutched the door handle, openened the door as if he were going to get into the car and then swung around and punched one of the men that surrounded him.

Cries of outrage came from the other members of the group. They advanced on Deacon, staring him down. The tall one was the first to throw a punch, the rest of them followed. Soon he found himself lying on the ground...it would have hurt had he not still been numb from the drugs.

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"Well, hello, Ms. Jaymes." The doctor fixed his tie, buttoned the top button of his coat and sat down. "I'm Doctor Smith."

Rayna wondered if anyone could ever have a more generic name than Smith.

"I was expecting you a few hours ago." Rayna made sure he heard the annoyance in her voice.

The doctor flicked a speck of dust of his coat, fixed his glasses, and, once again, straightened his tie. "Sorry...emergency surgery," he said.

Rayna opened her mouth, about to say something, but decided against it.

"So, Ms. Jaymes I regret to tell you: you have a severe concussion. Your arm was also broken in the crash...seems as though the airbag hit it the wrong way. A very bad break, unfortunately, your radius and ulna, the two bones that begin below your elbow, were entirely shattered we had to do reconstructive surgery. There will be no cosmetic damage, but you will have to do extensive physical therapy to regain the range of motion you once had in the arm."

This was a lot to take in. She could do the physical therapy, she could deal with the concussion, but could she do it without help? She didn't have Deacon, at least not now, and she didn't want Teddy's help. She felt, for the first time in a long time, utterly alone.

"The good news is," Doctor Smith continued, "that you can be discharged today. We have monitered your concussion for 3 days and you seem to be doing well. We will of course be giving you instructions on how to care for you arm and such. And I will be reffering you to a specialist who you will have a follow up with in a week. I assume you have someone who can care for you until then?"

"Well, of course, I do." Rayna said indignantly. The truth was, however, she had no one, but she wasn't about to admit it to some stranger.

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Deacon recieved one last kick to the head as the group of men walked away. He wiped his face with his hand and it came away red with blood. Grasping the tire of his car with his hands he pulled himself up and collapsed in the passenger seat of the car and closed his eyes.

He was woken, only a few minutes later, by a rapping against the car window nearest to him. Thinking it was his attackers her put his hands over his face and waited for the blows to start raining upon him. When he saw a flash of strawberry blonde hair in the corner of his eye, though, he knew it was Rayna.

Deacon scrambled half way over to the drivers seat and tried to start the car, but before he had even gotten the key near the ignition Rayna was sitting there blocking his escape.

"What do you think you're doing, Deacon?" She questioned sternly.

"Well I think I was having a damn good time until you came along." Deacon shot back.

He looked around for another escape exit, but Rayna had already locked all the doors.

"Are you hurt?" She reached out a hand and tenderly touched his face, momentarily forgetting her anger. She quickly drew back her hand, however, and continued on her rampage, "Returning to your old ways I see," she snarled as she grabbed the bottle of pills, read the label, and quickly pocketed it in an attempt to keep it away from Deacon.

"Listen here, Deacon. As you can see I can't drive," she gestured to the cast on her arm, "I took a taxi out her, but I'm sure as hell not taking one back. The last thing I need is the papparazzi catching me here or you here, for that matter. So, I'm going to wait here until you sober up and then you are going to drive me to your house and we are going to stay there."

"Thanks, but I'll pass." Deacon grumbled and reached for the door, forgetting that it was locked.

"Don't you dare. We will stay here, in this car, until you have come down from that high you're on and then you are going to drive me to your house. Do you hear me?" Rayna had an extremely commading voice when she was mad.

"Dammit." Deacon banged his head against his head rest, but no longer resisted. He had no intention to follow her plan, but he decided that, for now, he had nothing better to do than to sit and wait.

Deacon though the conversation was over. Rayna had other thoughts, however.

"Deacon, I need your help and you need mine. I need someone to help me right now because I can't take care of myself, and you need someone to help your for the same reason. You need my help to get sober and I need you to take care of me because I am hurt." Rayna said it in a softer tone of voice. She also tried to speak as simply as she could because she didn't know what he could and couldn't understand in his state of mind.

Deacon stared at her. He didn't need her help...he was sure of that. This was his true form, he had decided, and he wasn't changing. The drugs, the alcohol...they were who he truly was and they took away the pain. He knew she needed his help, though and he was willing to play along because no matter what the profound love Deacon felt for Rayna Jaymes trumped everything.


End file.
